Little Lion Man
by Green Miscreant
Summary: It made Arthur feel incredibly old, the realisation that his second youngest child was no longer a child. Ron had been an adult living in an adolescent's body since the age of twelve, but it hadn't been until after the war that Arthur had fully realised it.
1. Breakable

**Hello. Welcome to _Little Lion Man_, a fic that will be centred around Ron Weasley, because he is my favourite character of all time and he gets far too much hate in this fandom, and his relationships with the members of his family and as such, there will eventually be eight chapters. This chapter focusses on Ron and Molly, but it's mostly told from Molly's POV and looks into the ways in which he's broken after the war (more on that at the end; I don't want to spoil anything.) Trio-ship if you squint, but doesn't have to be taken that way.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form, other than as a fan, nor do I own the song that the title came from (Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons)**

**Warnings: there aren't any that I can think of. Touches on sensitive topics, and there is no dialogue so swearing is not a problem.**

**Written for: Connect the Weasleys Challenge - Molly/Ron - Breakable/ Favourite Character Boot Camp Challenge with prompt 'Mother'/ Favourite Hogwarts House Boot Camp Challenge using 'Fragile'/ If You Dare Challenge with 'Only Time Will Tell'**

* * *

May/August 1998

.

Molly Weasley knew that her youngest son was broken.

**-xoxo-**

She saw it in the way that he flinched away from human contact unless it came from Harry and Hermione, or he could see it coming. It had almost completely destroyed her to see him go rigid when hugged by what was left of her family around Fred's… well, around Fred, and to realise that he was so out of touch with interacting with other people that he completely clammed up if so much as a finger was placed on him without his say so. She didn't miss, and was both silently relieved and jealous, that he was fully relaxed around Harry and Hermione; that after Voldemort was dead and the world had started turning again, that Ron and Hermione were immediately in the black-haired boy's arms and so unbelievably happy to be with each other and alive, she'd had to turn away.

Ron wasn't the only one, of course, that shied away from physical contact; his two best friends' were equally skittish around others, but Harry had always been slightly wary when approached by anyone other than those two or Sirius, and Hermione had never been particularly open with affection. But Ron was her baby boy; the one who used to hang onto her apron strings until given a cuddle and who couldn't go to sleep without a bedtime story and a kiss. Molly wasn't sure how she'd missed her baby becoming a man, but she did, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

**-xoxo-**

She saw it when she realised how her son wouldn't fully relax until the other members of the 'Golden Trio' (a nickname she used to think was ridiculous, but now, she's not so sure it's wrong) were in the room where he could see them. She knows she's not the only one who noticed how close the three of them sat to each other, nor how they kept touching each other, as if to reassure themselves that they were actually there and okay. Bill told her how Ron had got separated from them for a while, although the details were sketchy at best and none of them were talking, which partly explained the touching, and whenever it happened she couldn't help but wonder what exactly they'd been through in those ten months that made them so scared of being out of each other's sight for more than five minutes.

It wasn't just in wakefulness that her son centred himself around the two non-Weasleys, and vice-versa. It hadn't escaped any of the family's attention that they took shifts in sleeping, and 'guarded' each other whilst doing it. Molly would have found the idea ludicrous, had she not been witness to Ron's wand mere inches away from Ginny's face and a dangerous hex on his lips when she'd come too close to a sleeping Harry. He hadn't even been apologetic about it; had only shrugged his shoulders and refused to lower his wand until his sister had backed off to stand a few feet away.

**-xoxo-**

The most obvious sign had been how shockingly little her son had eaten. Growing up, Ron had eaten anything and everything placed in front of him. It became abundantly clear on the night after the Battle, when even Molly herself had been operating on autopilot and could barely bring herself to put one foot in front of the other, that something was very wrong with her youngest boy. He had sat opposite her at the Gryffindor table, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his face so covered in blood and grime, she could scarcely see the skin underneath and could smell him, them, from across the table; a mixture of blood, sweat and smoke, amongst others that she couldn't place. He'd had Hermione's head on one shoulder and Harry's arm around his waist. A position she had gathered that meant they could both be touching (something they clearly needed, so she hadn't said anything) and eat without trouble. Not that they need have bothered; Ron had eaten less than a third of what was on his plate, and even that had looked like a struggle.

It had taken _weeks_ to build up even half of the appetite he had had before they'd run off doing Merlin knew what. Even now, three months later, there are still days where they're all sat down to eat and she'll offer him something and he'll pale drastically, his chair shooting backwards so quickly it almost topples over, and disappear out through the back door or upstairs, the other two close behind him looking equally ill. There are also times where his face visibly lights up, he declares that she's the best cook on the planet, and she'll think that maybe he's getting better, before he shoots an apologetic look in Hermione's direction, his appetite vanishing faster than she can say '_Scourgify_', and they're back at square one.

**-xoxo-**

When they'd got home to The Burrow, and the grief of Fred's death had dimmed from a constant, almost physical thing to a never-ending, but somewhat manageable ache in the back of the head, Molly noticed pretty quickly yet one more thing that was wrong with her child. Before Hogwarts, Ron had always been a very vocal person; he shouted when he was angry or excited, he laughed loudly when he was happy and he rambled when he was nervous. Over the years, that had obviously changed and he'd become more subdued and contemplative about things, which was probably to be expected given the things he'd been doing since the age of eleven, most of which both Molly and Arthur agreed he had kept hidden from them. This had only escalated on their return to their house. Ron only spoke in length to Harry and Hermione and he didn't even try to hide the fact that if anyone else approached them in the middle of a conversation it would stop until they left again. He only spoke when spoken too, and even then it had to be done quietly; none of them reacted well to loud or sudden noises and they never laughed, not in the way that they used to; carefree and happy.

**-xoxo-**

There were then, of course, the nightmares. Where her son and his friends kept quiet during the daytime, at night it was a very different story. In fact, the three of them had been plagued by nightmares for weeks, months really, that were so bad even the silencing charms placed over Ron's room were not enough to completely block out the screams. The first time she had witnessed one of their night terrors, which they were, if the sounds were anything to go by, it had been Hermione, who was still in Ginny's room at that point, who had woken the entire house with a soul-shattering scream. By the time the two boys had come hurtling down the stairs from the attic, neither one in more than a pair of boxers and the shorter of the two without his glasses, every Weasley had been gathered on the landing, not knowing what to do and Charlie had been the one to catch Ginny as she came stumbling out of the room, wide-eyed and terrified. When prompted to say what had happened, the redhead had simply shook her head and stared through the open door at the three friends.

Hermione had been laying ramrod straight on her back, her fists clutching the sheets around her so tightly her knuckles had turned white. All six of them had silently watched as Harry and Ron had laid on either side of her on top of the covers. The young witch had immediately curled into the taller male's chest; her head nestled under his chin and her hand on his shoulder. Despite the circumstances, the position had made Molly smile to herself; it had been no secret to her that the pair had fancied each other for quite some time. What had made her eyebrows near her hairline, however, had been Hermione reaching behind her to grab Harry's arm and pull it around her midriff tightly, without hesitation, his forehead resting against her shoulder blade and his thumb drawing soothing circles into her belly, Ron's fingers doing the same to her spine, both of them whispering words of comfort to the distraught girl.

It had been at that point that she had ushered all of the others back to bed, trying to give them some privacy, with Ginny standing at her shoulder, unsure of what to do next. That decision had been made for her a few minutes later when the three of them had exited the room, Hermione still between the two boys, looking pale and shaky, her head on Ron's shoulder and her hand gripping Harry's hip hard enough to leave a bruise, her eyes screwed shut and sweat beading her forehead. As they'd headed towards the stairs, Ron had given his mother a reassuring nod. Not that she had seen it; she'd been too focussed on the fact that she could see two pairs of ribs and six collarbones more than she should've been able to and skin so pale it was virtually translucent. She'd suddenly been struck with the fact that all three of them were broken in ways she didn't even know how to begin fixing, and for someone who spent so much time concentrated on the well-being and happiness of her family, it had been a bitter pill to swallow.

It had been a drastic and upsetting realisation; that her baby was breakable and that he'd been pushed over the edge to a place where it would take a lot of time and dedication to put the pieces that were once Ronald Weasley back together into some semblance of _whole_. But as she watched him one day in late August, pulling a face at Teddy over Harry's shoulder, making the young child gurgle happily, and then lifting his head enough to offer her a small smile, she couldn't help but think that her broken boy, broken children, really, had always been good at defying the odds. Limits simply didn't exist to them, and maybe that meant that things would eventually be okay. Either way, she'd be there to help him, because that's what mothers _did_.

* * *

**Back to what I said at the top. I think that after the war everyone, but especially the Trio, would have been extremely damaged by the things that they had seen and done, and I also think that Harry, Ron and Hermione would have had a lot of trouble readjusting to normal life; things like not being on edge and ready to run all the time, eating healthy sized portions, etc.**

**Not all of the chapters will be like this, I promise. It was just that the way I wanted to tell it didn't really leave room for talking, so it was just easier to not have any.**

**But yes, if there's anything you don't understand, or just want to tell me, let me know! Just try not to be too harsh about it, yeah?**

**Cheers, guys,**

**-V**


	2. Dust

**So here's chapter two. Arthur and Ron this time. I think the tense in the first part of this is a little bit strange in some places, so just be ready for that. Once again, trio-ship if you squint, but doesn't have to be taken that way but there is minor hints at Ron/Hermione. **

**Just a warning to you all, the next chapter may take a while for me to get out. I'm moving on Sunday, so this week is going to be jam packed with saying goodbye to people and finishing packing, and then the next few weeks I'll be busy settling into university life and learning to live in a flat with a bunch of people I've never met before, so writing time may be limited.**

**Written for: Connect the Weasleys Challenge - Arthur/Ron - Dust/ Favourite Character BC Challenge with 'Moving'/ OT3 BC Challenge with 'Home'/ If You Dare Challenge with 'Grown-up'**

* * *

March 1999

.

Of all the places he would have expected his youngest son to announce he and his friends were moving into, number twelve, Grimmauld Place would not have been it. But when Ron had made the declaration over Sunday lunch, one day in late February, the words had left his lips accompanied with a grin. Molly had objected, of course; demanding to know who was going to take care of them if she wasn't there to do it.

"We can look after ourselves!" Ron had replied hotly, a scowl beginning to form on his face. "It's not like we haven't done it before."

"Not judging by the state you three were in when you first came home, you can't." Molly'd returned sharply, seemingly not realising she had taken it a step too far, and Arthur watched as Harry had placed a reassuring hand on Ron's left forearm, their eyes meeting briefly, and yet saying a thousand things that only the two of them would ever fully understand.

"Yeah, well, you try living on the run for almost a year, and see how you like it!" What Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone through in those ten months was never spoken about, all three of them keeping very tight-lipped about it. Bill had told his parents that Ron had got separated for a while (why, they didn't know; yet another thing on a long list of many, that hadn't been shared with them) and that the three of them, Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas and a goblin called Griphook had stayed at his house for a short while before the Battle. It was such a shock to be given a piece of information like that that Arthur hadn't even reprimanded his son on his behaviour towards his mother. The way he'd said it had sounded like Ron and the others hadn't been nearly as safe as they'd been allowed to think.

This revelation meant that the rest of the meal had passed in awkward silence, no one at the table wanting to attempt a conversation, although Arthur hadn't missed Bill and Charlie flicking peas at each other when they'd thought Molly couldn't see them, the disapproving frown she gave them suggesting otherwise.

No more had been said about it that night, or the days following it, but they'd all seen the determined look in their mother's eye that seemed to promise trouble if the subject was brought up again. What hadn't been so obvious, but was still very much present, had been Ron's own determination, hidden by glares directed at Molly's back when she made a point of saying something about 'being close to the family, where I can keep an eye on you' and kept locked behind closed doors, the three of them slowly packing up their things, using Hermione's spellwork to shrink certain objects and sneak them out of the house.

**-xoxo-**

Ron had told him a few weeks before they left what they were going to do; that they were going to leave whether Molly agreed with it or not and they felt at least one of his parents' should know what they were planning. Arthur had been about to say that he agreed with his wife, the situation feeling far too similar to Bill's wedding and their sudden departure and he understood where Molly was coming from completely. The war may have been over, but it was still evident everywhere they went, there was no escaping the lasting effects, whether they be visible or not, and Arthur had no desire to relive the fear he'd felt when the trio had first gone missing, however ridiculous it may seem to his son; until he had children of his own, he wouldn't understand. But Ron, as if sensing his father's disapproval, had explained why they needed to leave as best he could; despite the leaps and bounds he'd made in expressing himself, the young man still had a long way to go.

"Dad, we _need_ to go. We came back here because it was what you and Mum needed. Everything was screwed up and you needed us to be here so you could get better – don't look at me like that, you needed it as much as Mum did. But you're okay now and we need to focus on us, because _we're_ not okay." Ron's blue eyes were pleading over the rim of the steaming mug he'd lifted to his lips and Arthur watched him take a sip of his tea in silence. "The war really messed us up and Hermione," Arthur didn't miss the light pink that stained his youngest son's cheeks, or the small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "thinks we should get some space, so that we can figure it out and start putting ourselves back together."

Raising a brow, he reached for his own mug; a blue one from a Muggle shop, with the words "World's Best Dad" emblazoned in bright yellow on the side, and asked, "What about Harry?"

Ron frowned and tilted his head to the side slightly. "What about Harry? He's coming too – the git needs it the most, we reckon." Realisation seemed to suddenly dawn and he flushed a bright red. "It- It's not like _that_. We can't just cut Harry out of it – he's a part of it all. Hermione thinks we should focus on 'mending ourselves, before concentrating on a relationship'." He pulled a face, and then suddenly grinned. "Harry says that's a load of bollocks and we shouldn't waste any more time."

Resignation crept up on him and Arthur sighed heavily. "When are you planning on going?"

"A few days after my birthday; if we go before that, Mum'll have my head." They shared a knowing smile and the older man nodded, leaning back in his chair and scratching the back of his balding head.

"Alright, leave your mother to me." Ron nodded enthusiastically and rose to his feet so he could place the now-empty mugs in the sink, clapping his father on the shoulder as he passed on his way out the door.

**-xoxo-**

There had been a lot of arguments over the following weeks, Molly upset with not only her son, but also Arthur for supporting the trio's decision and barely spoke to any of them. Thing's had only gotten worse when Ron informed them that the move would most likely be permanent and that they might not be in contact for a while, because they had to relearn how to interact with people without freaking out whilst in a big group and hadn't been able to understand why that made her so panicked.

"It's not like you won't know where we are." He'd said, rolling his eyes and bending to pick up a small pile of clothes that had been on the floor. Much to his parents' shock, he'd deftly folded them without a second thought and shoved them into an open bag, stepping out of the way so Harry could pull a small pouch out from underneath the bed with his foot, the two sharing a quick grin as he did so. "Besides, we'll be back before you know it." Molly had given a teary huff and stalked out of the room, not quite slamming the door behind her and leaving a confused Ron staring at where she'd been standing. With a shake of his head Arthur had followed his wife down to the kitchen and leaving the two teenagers murmuring between themselves and sorting through clothes.

**-xoxo-**

After agreeing to be the one to make sure that they were properly settled in, Arthur went with them on the day they officially moved in. There wasn't much to do, seeing as the house already had furniture and all they'd had to move was their trunks full of personal items and their clothes.

The first thing he noticed about Grimmauld Place was that it was not the same house it had been three years previously. That became obvious the moment Arthur stepped through the front door and was greeted with a brighter, less intimidating hallway than he remembered, the walls no longer dark green, instead a deep, warm red; a product of Hermione's charm work, judging by the "Redcurrant Glory" she informed him with when she appeared behind them and the piece of shiny 'paper' (Arthur knew that that's what Muggles used instead of parchment – he'd taken Muggle Studies at Hogwarts) covered in tiny coloured squares clutched in one hand.

The changes had only continued as they moved through the house, each and every room proving to be cleaner than Arthur had ever seen them, the dust and grime replaced with shiny wooden surfaces, and glinting metal ornaments on the walls. Even Mrs Black's portrait was nowhere to be seen or heard. When he mentioned this, his son merely chuckled and shook his head ruefully.

"That has nothing to do with us. Kreacher's the one who's kept this place clean for the past year." He knew, of course, that they had been here for some time after Bill's wedding; could remember Remus arriving at The Burrow, flustered and angry, and maybe a bit ashamed, informing them that the kids were in the safest place they could be.

"Which is what I don't understand. The last time we were here, Kreacher did everything to reverse the progress made, why's it so different now?" He glanced at the house-elf who was carrying a tray of dirty teacups towards the other end of the kitchen, noticing the gleaming gold locket resting against the elf's chest. He turned back in time to see Ron direct a bitter smile at the table, a haunted look flashing in his eyes before vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. Long fingers drummed on the wooden surface and the younger Weasley huffed out a breath before speaking.

"Let's just say it was a gift from _his_ old Master." Arthur didn't miss the slight emphasis on 'his' and smiled to himself. Before he could say anything more, there was a loud creak from behind them and a large pot fell to the floor with an echoing clang. Harry made to get out of his chair and pick the pot up, but Ron beat him to it, spinning on his chair and raising his wand. "Don't worry, mate, I've got it. _Wingardium Levi_o_sa_." He barely managed to get the words out over the laugh threatening to break out. Next to him Harry snorted, and that was enough to make them both dissolve into what was bordering on giggles.

Hermione looked up from the book she'd been reading and smiled in amusement at the two laughing boys, shaking her head with a look of affection directed at their bent heads. Kreacher appeared at her elbow, muttering something to her so quietly Arthur couldn't hear him, and she nodded before following the small elf to the other end of the room and levitating a small stool over behind her. Once Harry calmed himself down, he made his way over to them, stepping out of the way as Kreacher pulled the stool so it was flush against the cupboards, clambering up so he could reach the countertop.

"They made him promise to let them help make dinner every now and then." Ron commented, noticing the confused look his father was giving them.

"And Kreacher agreed?" It would have been strange for any house-elf to agree, but especially so for that particular one, considering how it'd acted when the house was used as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

"Well… Not exactly. He has to do all of the washing up _and_ clean every room in the building. He made them swear on it before he'd even _think_ about letting them help." He smiled again and Arthur couldn't help noticing just how relaxed he was. Without being constantly surrounded by people, Ron's body language had changed drastically; gone were the rigged shoulders and the unnatural quietness, instead replaced with a young man who was completely at ease in his surroundings, and who, despite still being quieter than he had been, laughed and joked freely. It made Arthur feel incredibly old, the realisation that his second youngest child was no longer that; a child. Ron had been an adult living in an adolescent's body since the age of twelve, but it hadn't been until after the war that Arthur had fully realised it.

"Why this house?" He heard himself ask, registering the shocked look he was given in return, a look that seemed to say _"Why _not_ this house?"_.

"Well, it's legally Harry's anyway; Sirius left it to him, although I something tells me that living in it wasn't what he had in mind." The grin he offered Arthur was tinged with sadness and the older man felt a pang of sympathy go out to his son. Ron had loved Sirius too; had cared about him and worried about him whilst they were at Hogwarts and the ex-convict had been on the run. When Sirius died, Harry wasn't the only one who'd lost someone, even though his loss was the most obvious and heartbreaking. "Besides, he needs to be here, I think. Some of his happiest memories are here, and he'll need them to get better."

"What about you? What do you need to get better?" It was an important question, and Arthur was willing to move mountains, if that's what he had to do; anything to help his child get onto the road to recovery. Ron merely looked at his two best friends, busy arguing over who was going to peel the carrots, Kreacher in between, ready to intervene if things got too out of hand for his liking, and nodded in their direction.

"Them, Dad. I need _them_."

* * *

**So, I hope you liked that chapter as much as the first. The response to which, was _amazing_, so thank you so much, guys!**

**Until next time,**

**-V**


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